


Something Flowery and Poignant about Love Being Infinite

by trashtrashtrash03



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Everyone Is Gay, F/F, F/M, Gender Identity, I headcanon Mary as a gnc woman, Multi, OT4, Polyamory, Post-Canon, everyone forgives each other in the show finale, jack rackham is textbook demiromantic/demisexual, mary is a textbook stag, max/anne/jack is an established relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-24
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2019-12-06 20:21:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 9,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18224987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashtrashtrash03/pseuds/trashtrashtrash03
Summary: Mary Read joins Jack Rackham's crew and gets much more than she bargained for.





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> Tried my best to adhere to the historical accounts about Anne Bonny and Mary Read, in fitting with the show canon.  
> Yo  
> (and I cannot stress this enough)  
> ho

Mary’s boots landed heavily on the deck of the Revenge. The crew paid her no mind, bustling around her in their preparations. From across the deck, she could feel eyes on her. Blue eyes, blazing, sizing her up from afar. The infamous Anne Bonny. Mary ducked her head a little lower, hoping the brim of her hat would afford her some shelter from that searing gaze.

“Are we ready to depart?” The captain asked. Mary wasn’t sure if he didn’t notice the expression on his partner’s face or if he just chose to ignore it.

 Anne’s appraising eyes slid from Mary to the captain before she stalked over to him.

“Don’t remember talking about bringing on new people.”

“Ah, we didn’t.”

“Oh, I know we didn’t.” She smiled dangerously.

Jack Rackham leaned in closer to her. “He’s come from the continent. Served with the regulars in the war.”

Mary watched them hold each other’s gazes, continuing the conversation without words, until Anne looked her up and down again. A prompt.

“Mark. Mark Read.” After years of hiding her identity, the introduction came as naturally to her as the artificially gravelly tone she spoke with.

Anne’s only response was another bout of nonverbal conversation with the captain before Rackham nodded quickly in Mary’s direction. That was the only dismissal she needed – she hurried belowdecks to man her station for departure.

This, Mary could do. Talking her way on board a ship was hard. Luckily, Rackham had done most of the talking in this instance. Meeting new people was hard. Even after all these years of passing as a man, her stomach still roiled with the fear of being found out. But this, this was easy. Sailing. The winds, the tides, the rhythm of the rigging. It was a dance that Mary knew well. Allowing herself to be coordinated along with a crew of 20 or 30 souls. When she heard Anne’s call of “Get us underway!” she felt only relief.

* * *

Mary had been wearing the mantle of “Mark” for as long as she could remember. She was born of an illegitimate tryst, and her mother needed to hide the fact of her birth, so Mary was assigned the role of her older brother, who had died. Morbid, maybe, but living as a boy she was able to work, roam the world freely, and eventually enlist aboard a merchant ship. Masculinity came naturally to her, and she knew she was no less a woman for it.

In her teen years, her first love struck her like a cannonball. Her bunkmate, Martin. He was a fierce fighter, but a gentle friend. He listened when she griped. He rubbed her back while she vomited for the whole first day of her first few voyages. He showed her a brotherly camaraderie that was softer than most of her crewmates, and she softened to him because of it.

She rued that mistake.

In a fit of passion, and after a few too many glasses of rum, Mary pulled him behind the galley and kissed him. He reeled back, disgusted, until Mary revealed herself to him: a woman, tits and all.

After that, he was more than happy to return her affections, but he wanted more. He loved her so much, he wanted to spirit her away from their dangerous life at sea. He wanted to marry, to start a family. He wanted to free her from the chains that bound her to “Mark”.  He told the whole crew about her true gender, and about their love, and about their plans. His plans. He would hear nothing of her desires to stay at sea, by his side. By the time she realized her narrowing options, it was too late. Her crew knew her secret, and they refused to suffer a woman in their ranks. There was only one path forward: resignation. She and Martin married in the Netherlands, and he returned to sea while she stayed behind to tend Martin’s family inn. Martin’s mother dressed her in “clothes befitting a proper lady” and styled her hair as it grew out longer. The corsets cut off her air supply, and long hair made the back of her neck itch. Women’s shoes were not made for running, the skirts not made for climbing. The calluses on her hands started to heal, palms softening over time with disuse.

She saw Martin infrequently, and though she loved him, she dreaded his leaves between journeys. He would tell her tales of grand adventures at sea, and she would ache with longing. After Martin made love to her, she would sneak out of bed and douche herself, trying not to cry out. The thought of her belly swelling, her breasts dropping, filled her with dread. She could stomach this life as a housewife but she knew, on some level, that motherhood would break her spirit entirely.

Martin died at sea five years after they were married. Mary had loved him, so she mourned him, but his death would be her deliverance. She was unmarried, childless, and free. Free to return to the sea. Free to cut her hair and wear loose fitting pants and rough her hands on salt-covered ropes. Free to be Mark.

She joined the first crew she could, and swore never to fall in love again. She could not be so disingenuous as to remain ”Mark” with someone she claimed to love, but to reveal herself would be suicide. She had learned that lesson well.

Until she caught wind of a fearsome pirate from Nassau by the name of Anne Bonny. A woman, aboard a ship, respected by her peers and feared by her enemies. It was spoken about among her crew with disdain, the same way they spoke about the perverse relationships male pirates sometimes engaged in with one another. A crime against civilization, a deviation from the natural order. A _woman_ on a _ship._

The more Mary heard about it, the more she thought she might have more in common with pirates than with “civilized” folk. When her crew was overpowered by a pirate ship headed for New Providence Island, she willingly defected.


	2. II

They had been at sea for three days when the lookout finally crowed “Sails!” Mary watched from the main deck as Bonny and Rackham took turns with the spyglass. The lookout called again. “English colors!”

The crew held their collective breaths, waiting for instruction. Rackham lowered the glass and spoke lowly to Bonny, ridiculous sideburns drawn into a wry smile. She turned around, red hair blazing, with mania in her blue eyes.

_What a picture they make together_. Mary had exactly half a second to marvel.

“Set a course to intercept her!”

The main deck crackled with energy. Their first prize after leaving Nassau, and everyone seemed hungry for it. Mary could feel the anticipation of a fight in her muscles. While dodging the powder monkeys and the riggers bustling around the decks, she absentmindedly reached for the cutlass at her left hip and the pistol in her belt. She would be lying if she said she wasn’t itching for a release. She half hoped the prize ship refused to surrender.

* * *

Jack had shoved off to talk to the coxswain, leaving Anne to monitor preparations. She tried to watch the gun crews preparing their cannons, and she tried to watch the men in the rigging unfurling sails to catch the wind, but her eyes kept landing on Mark. She’d been watching him since he came aboard, even moreso than the other newcomers. He was tiny, at least a head shorter than Anne, and his features were soft. Not a wisp of a beard either. Anne couldn’t imagine him to be older than 20, but he carried himself with the confidence of an old salt. Anne felt a roiling in her stomach that she was tempted to call loathing.

Anne hadn’t understood this feeling the first time it presented itself to her. It was a gnawing in her stomach, a burning feeling. Something passionate, active, and she easily miscategorized it as animosity. Until a brave woman leaned into the sword poised at her neck and kissed Anne _so_ gently. She recognized it for what it was now, having already felt it once before. _Attraction._ Anne barely suppressed a sneer. The last fucking thing she needed was to turn into a moon-eyed school girl whenever the new deckhand was around. As the only woman aboard a ship full of lawless ingrates, she needed to keep her wits about her. Feeling this way about Max all those months ago had left her vulnerable, and that wasn’t something she could afford. Not here.

She threw a look over her shoulder at the prize ship. They were closing on her fast. Jack was gesturing grandly to the sailing master when Anne wrenched him away by the shoulder.

“New kid goes over the side first.”

Jack looked taken aback. “I’m not immediately inclined to disagree with you, darling, but I do wonder about your insistence.”

Anne cocked one shoulder, defensive. “Dunno, something don’t feel right about him. I think if he doesn’t make it through this fight, we might be better off for it.”

Jack squinted at her, trying to read her expression. “Do you know something about Mr. Read that I don’t?”

Anne glared at him, pouring all her frustrations about the situation into her gaze, before storming away. She couldn’t tell Jack how she felt. They had barely weathered the turmoil of letting Max enter their relationship. Jack had probably rationalized Anne-and-Max as something completely other than Jack-and-Anne, relationships so fundamentally different they were not worth comparing and therefore not in competition. After his initial distrust, Jack was able to discount Max as a threat to his place in Anne’s heart, and view her as someone he might love in his own right. Things had finally started to stabilize. They had a dynamic, now. Their little triumvirate, as Jack had called it so long ago. How would Jack react when he learned that Anne would upset that delicate balance all over again? And this time for a man?

She hoped that even after all their years together, Jack couldn’t see right through her. It was some comfort to think that she could barely see it herself.

“Raise the black!”

All thoughts of Mark fell to the wayside when Jack starting calling out orders. They were approaching the prize ship quickly, and there was no sign of a white flag. Anne sucked her teeth. _Good._ They could all use a good fight.

“Gun crews at the ready!” After another few moments of bustling, the ship fell dead quiet, everyone waiting for Jack’s call. A person could hear their own heartbeat.

Ba bum

Ba bum

Ba bum

“FIRE!”

The Revenge exploded into action, gun crews firing, reloading, firing. The prize returned fire. Men went flying across the decks, cannonballs blowing splinters into their hull.

“Prepare to board her!” Men echoed Jack’s every call, ensuring that the whole crew was operating together.

“Ready the vanguard!” The crew scrambled to the gunwale, armed to the teeth and buzzing with anticipation.

“NOW!”

They were over the side in a matter of minutes, staring down a ship full of terrified Englishmen. Anne engaged with three of the nearest sailors at once, taking them all down swiftly. The rest of the battle blurred out of focus, keyed in as she was on whoever was approaching her next. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jack matching swords with the prize ship’s captain on the other side of the deck. Someone approached them from behind, and she lifted her pistol and fired without losing track of the sword in her face.

The chorus of enraged battle cries evolved slowly into a chorus of pained groans. Anne snapped a man’s neck and when he dropped, no one stepped up to replace him. Anne looked around at the bodies strewn across the deck. The fighting seemed to be over, a few of Jack’s crew holding kneeling men at gunpoint. Her eyes were drawn to the last active scuffle, which seemed to be between two desperate merchant sailors and –

Mark.

He looked absolutely feral. A gash above his eye poured blood, but he barely noticed. He made quick work of one of the soldiers with a swift slice of his cutlass, and the second got the butt of his pistol and dropped to the deck, lifeless. He spit blood and grinned, red and toothy.

Anne felt herself flush. She looked at him a little too long, a little too hotly, before catching herself.

Across the deck, behind where Mark was still heaving for air, Jack caught Anne’s eye. He saw the way she was looking at Mark, and he knew that she saw him see it.

All Mary saw was _red_.


	3. III

The door clicked behind Jack, and the sound of the crew pillaging the prize ship was muted. Anne stood in the center of the captain's cabin - their shared cabin - looking small. Her hat hid most of her face.

“Oh, Anne-” Jack didn’t know where to begin.

“I didn’t fucking choose this.” she spat, not looking up.

After all their years together, he knew when she was in Caged Animal mode. He moved to sit on their pallet, both presenting himself as nonthreatening and allowing her a route to the door. She visibly relaxed her stance.

“Is this why you wanted him on the vanguard today?”

Anne half shrugged: _What did you want me to do?_

He rolled his eyes and chuckled. “I suppose I should consider myself lucky that you've never felt properly attracted to me, seeing as your first instinct is always to kill the object of your affection.”

Anne seated herself on the pallet beside him, eyes suddenly sad. “Jack, you know I love you. Like no one else. We’re partners.”

Jack nodded, taking her hand and bringing her knuckles to his lips. “Til they put us in the ground. I know, darling.”

“It’s just. It’s different.” She shook her head, as if she could shake loose from her mind the words she needed to communicate her feelings. Jack hummed in understanding. She didn’t need to put it to words. He knew that her love for him was built on familiarity, admiration, trust. He knew he existed on a whole other tier than any other lover Anne would ever have, and vice versa. Deep down, he was unfazed by her feelings for other people, only by the logistical challenges they posed.

They sat silently together for a moment.

“Anne, I think you know it would be best for all involved if nothing came from these feelings, yes? The situation is fraught as it is. You would do well to avoid Mark Read.”

“I can't just do nothing about this. The way I feel now, it’s like the way I felt about Max. It demands some kind of action. It's not gonna go away on its own.”

Here, Jack became indignant, gesticulating wildly. “Well what action would you like to take, hm? We can’t just kill off every new crew member who strikes your fancy. Would you invite him into our bed? As fetching as you are, my love, I hardly imagine he’d have eyes for me. Would you like me to evacuate my own cabin so that a strapping young sailor who you literally just met-”

“I don’t like this any more than you do!” Anne cut him off, voice raw. “I’m fuckin scared, Jack! I've never felt this way about a man before. You're different, you're the only man in the world ain't crossed me, thinkin I'm just a dumb girl who would make an easy fuck. I love Max, because she ain't never treated me the way men do. But this- I've got no reason to believe Mark isn’t just another grimy sailor, looking for somethin to shove his dick into. I dunno, my head’s not right about this.”

Jack’s eyes were distant.

“Whatdya think Max would say?” Anne's voice was small.

Jack sighed heavily. “I think she would say something flowery and poignant about love being infinite,” here, he broke out into a botched French accent “‘Anne Bonny is a force of nature that cannot be tied down, not by one, not by two, not by a whole ship of lovers. You must follow your heart.’ She has never been the jealous type, darling. Although from where I'm sitting, she has less to lose here than I do. She may even enjoy the addition to our little arrangement.”

 _An addition to our little arrangement._ Anne noticed his assumption that this would be a group endeavor and met his eyes.

“And you wouldn’t?”

“Me?” Jack blanched at her, while Anne's face stayed carefully guarded. “He’s – well, Do you mean to suggest? That? A man! I, well I'd never considered…  I hardly think- Not to mention the problems inherent in a captain/crewmate relationship.”

Anne cocked an eyebrow at him. _Like ours?_

“This is different and you know it.”

Another long silence stretched between them.

“I hate feelin like I'm gonna fuck everything up again.”

Jack pressed another sad kiss to her knuckles. “We’ll weather this. Like we weathered it last time. Like we've weathered all the bullshit we've made it through.”


	4. IV

****Jack Rackham perseverated little on his sexuality. He busied his thoughts with schemes, leads, planning his next daring caper that would ensure his name be spoken forever with awe and respect. “Jack Rackham, the cleverest pirate captain. Outsmarted Captain Flint himself over a matter of five million dollars. Run Gov Woodes Rogers right out of Nassau.” He never concerned himself with thoughts of love or attraction, beyond his bond with Anne.

When they had first met, he saw a caged animal desperate to be set free, and as any human being with a soul would be inclined to do, he severed her chains. Anne was still a girl at the time. Ever since then, she had been at his side. Covering his blind spots during a fight, bringing some needed muscle to a negotiating table, being a friend to lean on. She had offered to be more than his friend, whispering dirty things into the dark, but he could see a hollow vulnerability in her eyes. She thought she owed it to him. She saw herself as his “prize” for having defeated her husband in a capital duel. The thought of her laying back and silently accepting his love as a payment, as a punishment, sickened him. It wasn't until almost 4 years after they met that their relationship became sexual, and he made absolutely certain it was on her terms.

From then on, for ten years, they were Jack and Anne. Partners. They never used words like “husband” or “wife”, mostly out of disdain for Anne's history with institutional marriage, but most others jumped to that conclusion. It was a relatively accurate assessment. Bound together, until death do us part.

It was what it was, and to Jack, it didn’t require much more consideration.

Until Max.

When Anne had started to become involved with Max, Jack thought she was punishing him for something. An elaborate, unspoken, “Fuck you Jack.” But it was quickly revealed to him that what Anne felt for Max was akin to what Jack felt for Anne. Admiration. Attraction. Love. He thought, after his initial internal war against the demons of jealousy and insecurity, that he could let Anne have this. Even the first time she brought him into Max's bed, he was giving himself over as a gift to Anne. He could let her have that as well.

It wasn’t until, during a lazy morning ménage a trois, Max reached across the vast canyon that was Anne to push one delicate finger into Jack's mouth. For the first time, he thought, _maybe I can have this too_.

Jack had always held a healthy respect for Max. A woman, born a slave, transported to Nassau as a whore, degraded, belittled, and above all, underestimated. Using nothing but shrewd wit and charisma, she climbed primly through the ranks and onto the throne of Nassau. She reminded Jack so much of himself. Maybe that's why Anne was so drawn to her. Maybe that was a narcissistic way of looking at it -- Jack was not above self reflection.

Now that he felt connected to Max in this way, he could appreciate her beauty with new eyes. He had passively observed before that Max was an objectively beautiful woman, but he never thought to attach desire to that observation. Her enticing figure, her cascading hair, her full lips, made her beautiful. The inner workings of her mind, her knowing eyes, her secret smiles shared only with close friends, those things made her irresistible.

Anne had been… shaken, at best, to learn that Jack and Max were experiencing this attraction, but she caught herself immediately. “I ain't got no right.” She could still get jealous, lash out, be surly. But it rarely lasted more than a day before she approached one or both of them, eyes sad, and led them silently to their shared bedroom as an apology.

After the smoke cleared and the dust settled, Jack had found himself in the confidence of two amazing women, who he loved dearly.

Jack was distantly aware of men having sexual relations with other men. Usually in the form of a passionless tug on long journeys, when everyone was missing their favorite whore. Jack, obviously, never felt the need to engage. Even with Anne aboard, sex was never one of his primary needs. Anne initiated almost every sexual encounter, and if she didn't, Jack hardly noticed its absence.

He had also heard of men bonded together the way he was bonded with Anne. It was uncommon, and sometimes risky, even among outlaws, but not unheard of.

Watching Anne watch Mark, Jack couldn't help but wonder. She clearly wanted him. Could she love him? Would she want to share him? Would he want to be shared? With Max? With Jack?

Some part of him knew that if Anne wanted Mark, wanted to bring Mark into Jack’s bed with her, Jack would let her have that. What would flourish from there? Jack knew that Mark was an objectively attractive man. Could he come to desire him, given time and opportunity?


	5. V

Mary sat at mess with a few of her new bunkmates. The crew, celebrating a good haul, had taken a bit harder to the rum than usual, and men kept putting full glasses into her hands to congratulate her on her first fight aboard the Revenge. She could tell she had earned their respect, and she gloried in the fraternal shoulder punches and back slaps. Her belly was warm with rum and camaraderie.

A full mug landed on the table across from her with a heavy _thud_. The owner of the mug landed onto the bench with a heavier _thud_. It seemed like the rum had made Anne Bonny sharper, rather than dulled away any of her usual edge. She looked more dangerous without her hat to hide behind, like a dagger unsheathed.

“Where’d you learn to fight like that?”

Mary gave her an appraising smile. She certainly was beautiful, all hard edges and bright flares of intensity. Mary weighed whether most men were more attracted to her or scared of her. Jack Rackham seemed to walk that line effortlessly. _Lucky man_.

“Fought with the regulars during the war.” A pre-cooked half-truth.

“That ain't how regulars fight.” Her eyes were bright in the dim light.

“Maybe that's why I left.” Emboldened by rum and the high of bloodshed, she leaned in closer. “What's it to you anyway?”

Most of the men had drifted away, knowing full well when to stay out of Anne Bonny's path.

Anne smirked. “My crew, my business.” She took a long swig.

Her face was unreadable, but Mary was feeling risky. “I could show you a few things, if you liked.”

Blue eyes flared. “You think you've got anything I don’t know?”

A challenge like that couldn't go unanswered. “I guess we’ll have to see, now, won't we?” Mary stood, drained her glass, and went to fetch her cutlass. Anne stood as well, but made no move to follow.

“Well?” Mary asked over the continuing din of mess. “If we’re going to do this, we'd better do it topside.”

Anne’s lip curled dangerously and Mary knew that if she had any sense about her, she would know she ought to back down.

But what fun would that be?

The deck was mostly deserted, with one watch in the crows nest and another at the helm.

Mary backed up, allowing Anne room to choose their playing field. She stalked to the back of the main deck, where the helmsman wouldn't see them. The crow might hear them, but he wouldn't be able to distinguish their figures in the dark.

Mary relaxed into a defensive stance, allowing Anne to lead them in the dance. Without thinking, she scanned her eyes, her wrists, her hips. Searching for a sign of movement, a telegraph of what her first attack would be. But Anne remained stock still for long enough that Mary was about to ask if she was feeling quite alright.

With no warning, Anne swung into action, and the dance begun. Swords clanged, blows landed, long red hair fanned out into a fiery halo. Mary was a little slower than she’d usually be, her gaze lingering too long on Anne's body and losing track of her sword, but Anne also seemed to be lagging for some reason. Maybe she was drunker than Mary had assumed.

The dance continued until both women were flushed and breathing heavily. Mary was quicker, more able to dodge and parry and regain the upper hand, but when their swords locked against each other, Anne won out in sheer strength. She launched Mary's cutlass halfway across the deck and leaned her blade against Mary's neck. The fire in her eyes blazed even brighter now than before.

Their bodies were pressed close, and Mary felt a certain warmth in her core that had nothing to do with the rum. She wasn’t sure, but she could swear she caught Anne's eyes flick down towards her lips. Mary, without thinking, leaned harder into the blade. Their faces were a hairsbreadth apart. The tension hung between them for a second, two, three-

“What the fuck is all this racket?!” The captain stormed out of his cabin and took in the scene. Anne lurched away from Mary like she’d been burned.

“What is going on here?” The captain approached slowly, as he would a wild animal.

“Fuck you, Jack” Anne schooled her face into her usual sneer and stormed back below decks.

Rackham’s gaze landed on Mary, and she suddenly realized just how cozy she had looked with his wife.

“We, uh, we was just. Sparring. Settling an argument.”

Jack's appraising stare did not falter. “Quite right.” Without another word, he vanished back into his cabin, leaving Mary alone on the deck.

_What the fuck am I in the middle of._


	6. VI

The next few days aboard the Revenge were tenuous. Anne and Mary gave each other a wide berth, but every once in a while one would catch the other staring. Anne scolded herself every time. Mary couldn’t help but be silently pleased.

Acknowledging her attraction to Anne came easily after the night they sparred on the deck. Any man with any sense could see she was beautiful, strong, clever, brave. There were endless reasons for a man to desire her. Why shouldn’t Mary, as someone whose life so closely resembled a man’s? She knew she could never act upon it, not after the lesson she learned with Martin, so she allowed herself some harmless longing.

Every once in a while she would feel an appraising gaze on her and she would find not Anne but Captain Rackham eyeing her. She wasn’t sure what to make of that, but she feared the worst. That somehow, something in the way she carried herself, in the way she fought, or ate, or worked, was unavoidably feminine. She focused on being gruffer, puffing herself up, growling out her words. She could make it through this voyage undiscovered.

One night, on their way back to Nassau, Mary had taken the night watch. She leaned against the gunwale and watched the horizon. The night was clear, the moon was almost full, and the Revenge carried the only souls as far as the eye could see. It was isolating, but freeing.  Alone on the deck, miles from shore, this is where Mary felt most herself. She breathed deeply, letting the salt air fill her lungs.

She heard slow footsteps approaching from behind her, walking leisurely. Not a threat.

“Mr. Read. A word, if you wouldn’t mind.”

Captain Rackham. Okay, maybe a bit of a threat.

She nodded, “Cap’n,” and followed him as he gestured towards his cabin.

Jack sauntered around to his desk, where he slid into his chair like a content cat. The name “Calico Jack” suited him well. Lazily beautiful but clearly dangerous. Mary stood awkwardly in the center of the room.

Jack opened a bottle of something dark and poured out two glasses, gesturing for Mary to sit.

“Mark, when I brought you aboard this ship, it was because I saw potential. You're young, you're ambitious, you struck me as a good fighter, and you also struck me as a man with a decent head on his shoulders. It has come to my attention that I might have been mistaken on that last count.” Jack sipped his drink slowly, and Mary reached to pick up her glass as well. She hoped he couldn’t hear her heart pounding in her ears. _Did he know?_

“Sir?”

“What do you think of my partner, Mark? Please, be frank.”

Mary's heart dropped. She had been half expecting this moment, after the captain caught her and Anne sparring that night. After they almost...

“She, uh, she fights good.”

The captain huffed a laugh. “Yes, that she does. However I have noticed a certain level of observation that I wonder about. It would seem to go beyond the plain admiration for a woman who, as you so eloquently put it, ‘fights good.'”

Mary paled, but said nothing.

“I'm sure you can imagine, as long as Anne and I have been sailing together, how many men have tried something… unsavory, with the woman I love. And while she is more than capable of defending herself, I would like to nip this in the bud before it costs you your life. Or something more dear.” Jack gestured significantly downward. If the situation weren’t so fraught, Mary might have laughed at his incorrect assumption.

“I’m sorry sir, I didn’t mean no-” she stuttered.

“I'm relatively certain I have heard this bit before. ‘I didn’t mean any offense. Won’t happen again. Very sorry.’ The fact that I'm the captain may keep you in line for a time but I need more assurance that these passions will not reignite when I have my back turned.”

“It ain’t like that, Captain. All due respect, you don’t understand-”

“Then help me understand. Why are you any different than any of those other brutes?”

Mary's face flushed. Jack Rackham was a formidable fighter and a skilled sailor, but the thing that had earned him his captaincy was his shrewd analysis. He could look a man up and down and know his thoughts, intentions, and goals. There was no way Mary could lie and say that there was nothing between her and Anne. There was no cover story she could concoct on the spot that wouldn’t ring hollow. For the second time in her life, she was backed into this corner, and she could only pray that the circumstances would be more forgiving.

“Alright, I'll tell you the truth. An’ if you want, I’ll find a new crew when we get back into Nassau but please, don’t go tellin’ this around.” Mary stood, rolled her shoulders back, bracing herself. There was already a woman aboard this ship, maybe they would be less inclined to ostracize her from the crew. Or maybe they’d be more likely to. Maybe Anne was an exception, and two women on a crew would be unthinkably bad luck. Maybe these folk weren’t as superstitious. Maybe Jack wouldn’t even tell the men. She could only hope.

Mary brought shaky fingers to the ties at the top of her shirt. The captain quirked one eyebrow but did not object. It hung loose, as all her shirts did, and she pulled the ties free to loosen it further. The fabric fell slowly over her shoulder to expose her breast. Smaller than most, but undeniably female.

She heard two sharp intakes of breath, one from Jack and one from behind her. She jumped when Anne stalked out of a dark corner of the cabin.

“A fuckin woman.”

“Oh dear god.”

“Miz Bonny!” _Shit._ Ten minutes ago she thought her secret was safe, and now she was out to not one, but two people. Jack might have spared her reputation, but Anne was probably repulsed by the idea that she had been unknowingly flirting with a woman this whole journey. Mary’s intentions had been true, but how could she say that now that both Jack and Anne knew of her true gender? They would certainly ostracize her for that. Voices swirled through her mind, whispering her worst fears. _They’ll throw you over the side for this. A perversion. Ain’t right. Maybe they’ll wait until we get back into Nassau just to make sure the news spreads. Unnatural._  “Miz Bonny, I’m sorry, please – “

“Don’t fuckin call me that. We ain’t gonna tell anyone, alright? Relax.” Anne came to lean on the captain's desk, facing Mary, looking strangely… smug? Jack was leaned back in his seat, still gaping.

Mary tied back up her shirt with shaking hands before picking up her drink and knocking it back. No one spoke for a minute.

“Well that changes a few things, dunnit?” Anne was obviously speaking to Jack, but her eyes never left Mary's.

“It definitely factors in, darling.” Jack poured himself another glass and drank deep.

Anne stalked forward, like an animal approaching its prey. Mary held her ground, watching. When they were almost nose to nose, Anne spoke.

“What's your name?”

“Mary. Mary Read.”

Anne's lips quirked into a half-smile. “Pleased to meet you.” She closed the distance between them with a gentle press of the lips.

The cacophony of doubts in her mind quieted at once. Her focus narrowed to the gentle pressure on her lips, the closeness of this beautiful woman. For all the sharp edges and acidic comments that Anne Bonny was comprised of, her kiss was anything but. Her lips were gentle against Mary’s, unassuming, chaste.

Mary allowed herself to be kissed for a moment before pulling back, and the doubts flooded back in. Primarily, the one where she just fucking kissed the captain’s wife in front of him. Warily, she looked to the captain, heart pounding. “Uh, sir?”

Jack had propped his feet onto the desk, watching the two of them with a heavy gaze. “I think, under the circumstances, you ought to call me Jack.”

Anne brushed a short hair out of Mary's face. “He stays, alright? That's the deal. Both or none. And you don’t gotta say yes just because we know, alright? You can walk out of here right now and me and Jack won’t say shit to the men. Ain’t our right.” Her voice was pitched low, as if it was some secret between them. She tentatively laced their hands together “What do you say?”

“Wait, both of – Jack, you … want?” she could hardly complete the thought. Jack stood from his desk and crossed to where the two women were stood close together. Anne’s eyes continued searching Mary’s face.

“Anne and my relationship is more than meets the eye. We are partners in all things, always have been and always will be. When she wants something, I rather like to give it to her, granted it won’t bring about any harm. You’ve placed a great deal of trust in us, being truthful like this, and I’m more inclined to be trusting because of it.” He took the hand not held in Anne’s and brought it gently to his lips, allowing Mary plenty of time to recoil. When she didn’t, he smiled. “And, well, call me what you may, but you certainly make a handsome young man. So regardless. Yes. I want. But the choice is yours.”

Mary’s fear melted into awe. She could hardly believe that both of them, two of the most fearsome pirates in the New World, were here asking her to lie with them. They had wanted her as Mark, before they knew. Now, they knew the truth and they both wanted her still.

_Maybe I can have this._

Mary nodded, smiling.


	7. VII

Max wearily stepped out of Governor Featherstone’s office. There was a dispute between one of the plantation owners and one of the merchant captains, each man certain that the other was fucking him somehow. Neither of them seemed to understand that reinstating colonial rule meant tariffs, price cuts, upstart expenses, and that the only one fucking them over was England herself. Placating both men had been no small task, and after all the mental gymnastics, she needed a drink.

_How is it that I sit on the right hand of the governor of Nassau, and after all this time my job remains the same as ever: pleasing men who have more gold than brains?_

She crossed the sandy street back to the brothel. Featherstone had offered her a room in the governor’s building, and she could have easily occupied the living quarters of any of the businesses she silently managed, but the brothel was home. Those were her girls. That room had been her room since she arrived on Nassau. It reminded her how far she had come. How far she had to fall.

Inside the brothel, business was booming. Music playing, people chattering, drinks being poured and men getting fucked. She asked one of the running boys for a glass of wine to be brought to her room. A firm hand landed on her arm.

“Can I buy that drink for ya, miss?” A sailor, she didn't recognize his face. His words were slurred and his eyes roved her body. This was one of her least favorite parts about the recolonization of New Providence Island. These Englishmen thought that they could dictate how the world worked, just based on how they thought it ought to. Any woman in a brothel must be a whore, and wasn’t it her job to serve his needs? _Ugh._ Say what you would about pirates, at least they understood that the ‘natural order’ didn’t count for shit in Nassau.

“This is my bar.” She yanked her arm free. “But thank you.” From across the room, she saw one of her most trusted girls. Elizabeth, a busty blonde who knew how to wring very expensive requests out of drunkards. Max gestured for her to come over. She turned back to the Englishman. “You may buy her a drink, if you like.”

Elizabeth sauntered over, fully in character, and Max went in for a hug. She whispered, “Do what he asks but charge him double.”

Elizabeth squeezed in acknowledgement before breaking the hug and sliding into the man's lap. His eyes bugged, and Max knew she was entirely forgotten. She moved to slip away when a different running boy caught her elbow.

“Ma'am. The Revenge.”

Her heart skipped. She was able to keep her anxiety at bay while her lovers were at sea, but when their sails were spotted on the horizon, they all bubbled to the surface. Her mind was full of torments every time they returned to harbor, her stomach tied in knots. Visions of a new captain sailing the Revenge into Nassau, crowing about his successful mutiny. Visions of Jack climbing out of the launch boat, eyes hollow, to tell her the dreadful news about Anne. Visions of Anne doing the same about Jack.

She hurried to the beach, eyes on the floating home of her lovers. There were launches headed for the shore, and she wished she had a spyglass to be able to identify the people on board. Above all this turmoil, though, she knew she must maintain a placid exterior. She was a civilized woman in a position of power, under near constant observation. She stood still at the water's edge and waited, hands clasped.


	8. VIII

It was a captain's duty to wrap up a few tasks aboard his ship before disembarking, and so Jack and Anne were almost always on the last launch. Mary had hung back, fussing with ropes unnecessarily, in order to wait for them. They three, with the last of their crew, rowed in silence towards the beach. Jack watched Anne scan the shore.

“There.” He pointed out a small figure, and Anne squeezed his hand. Mary watched this exchange with confusion.

Their launch beached and Anne leapt out of the boat, trudging through sand and sailors. Jack smiled at Mary wryly, and nodded for her to follow. She tracked Anne’s movements to a statuesque figure a ways up the sand. Based on what she wore and the way that people milled around her, respectfully maintaining their distance, Mary could only assume she was noble. As they neared her, Mary couldn’t help but notice that she was beautiful. Her round face and sweet smile invited you to trust her. Her hair wound through intricate braids and down around her shoulders in soft curls. She wore a thin line of kohl around her eyes that highlighted how bright and intelligent they looked. Where Anne was all bones and danger and razors-edge excitement, this woman radiated comfort and fireplaces and flower petals. Mary found herself a bit starry eyed, just at the sight of her.

The noblewoman fixated on Anne immediately, her cool countenance melting in a wash of relief. They embraced, and anyone could see all tension evaporating from both of them. Jack approached the two women, waiting patiently for them to separate, and then he kissed the back of Max's hand.

“Welcome home, mon chéris. How was your voyage?”

“It was… eventful. Enlightening, you might even say. Max, darling, we have someone we'd like to introduce you to.”

Mary had been watching this exchange, face downcast, but when the noblewoman’s gaze landed on her, she lifted her chin.

“Mark Read, ma'am.”

“Max. Enchante.” She quirked a questioning eyebrow at Anne, who smiled slyly.

“Let's go get a drink, eh?”

* * *

They took up a table at the brothel and ordered a round. The bar of the brothel was always a boisterous space, and after a few drinks, the four grew rowdy in kind. Mary told the story of her first pirate voyage, gesturing grandly about the fights and crew hijinks. Jack and Anne tried to retell the story of how they met Charles Vane, but they kept shouting over each other and correcting each other and the whole tale became incomprehensible.

Mary had never seen Anne look at someone as warmly as she looked at Max. It was clear that she loved Jack, but their dynamic was that of an old married couple – equal parts love and acidic banter. Anne mooned over Max like a schoolgirl, it was clear. For his part, Jack didn’t seem to mind. His face was open, unguarded, appreciating both women. Once in a while, he would brush a strand of hair out of Max’s face, or she would lean a hand on his thigh while addressing him. It didn’t mean anything, necessarily, but it didn’t mean _nothing._ Mary had started to get an inkling of what was going on.

Max leaned back, soaking in the laughter of her loved ones, but playing her cards close. She didn’t know anything about this Mark Read, nor why her partners had brought him home. Jack and Anne returning from a voyage usually involved one whisking the other two into their bedroom for at least 12 hours. Something remained unsaid, and it unsettled her.

Jack, through the whole conversation, had been watching her sizing up Mark. He leaned in towards her, conspiratorially. “Mark is one of our new crewmates. He’s a truly gifted sailor, an excellent addition to the crew. Anne took a liking to him immediately.”

Max’s eyes narrowed. Anne? Liking someone? Near unheard of.

“In fact,” Jack continued, “She liked him _so_ much, she tried to kill him a few times.”

_Oh._ Max felt it click in her mind. Anne wanted to sleep with this man. Maybe she already had, while they were at sea. She didn’t know Anne felt that way about men in general, Jack being something of an exception. And Jack? He seemed comfortable, unthreatened – to what degree was he involved in this arrangement? Her stomach clenched. She knew nothing about this man. The fact that Anne, and by default, Jack, had accepted him into their relationship to some degree spoke to his good character, but Max still held reservations. She was a woman of color, previously a slave and a whore. White men were rarely so good-hearted as to respect what she was and what she was no longer, Jack being a singularity, in her experience. There were so many things about her that she could not trust with a perfect stranger.

Jack seemed to see those exact wheels turning in her mind. “He is not what he seems. Trust us, darling.”

Max took a sip of her wine, pondering. There was something they were not telling her, but she knew the two of them well enough. There was nothing alarming in their countenances. No _we’re about to give you some terribly bad news_ pity. No _we’ve done something to achieve our own purposes that might detract from yours_ guilt. No _we’ve done something we know you won’t like_ shame. And, for all Jack’s boasting, neither of them were good enough actors to hide it if there was. She was more curious than anxious, at this point, but she continued to play her cards close.

Anne and Mark had paid their little tete-a-tete no mind, still roaring about a hilarious fight between two men over a misunderstanding about watch schedules. Albert Second had been scheduled for first watch, and of course the hilarity ensued from there.

Jack reached over to take Anne’s hand, and she turned a dizzy smile on him.

“Shall we go up?”

Anne’s eyes flickered to Max, and Jack nodded minutely. Max had begun to learn their little unspoken language, and she was proud of herself for decoding their meanings. _You’ve talked to her? She’s okay? – As much as she can be, without knowing._ Without a word Anne drained her glass and stood, taking Mark by the hand. Mark, having picked up on none of it, stood bemusedly and followed. Jack extended a hand to Max, waiting for her to accept it. She hesitated for a moment.

“Nothing will happen without your full approval, don’t fret. Just come up for a proper introduction.”

Max sighed. When Anne and Jack were of a mind, there was nothing they could not accomplish. And she did trust them. So she placed a dainty hand in Jack’s and they followed the other two upstairs.

The door to Max’s room clicked shut with a finality. Four people stood, looking at each other, and no one spoke for a moment.

“Mark, I’m sure you’ve noticed that Max is more than a friend to me and Anne.” Jack waited for Mark to nod. “She is a partner to both of us. We three have an arrangement. Do you understand?”

Mark nodded. “That bed’s big enough for three.”

Anne smiled slyly. “You pick up quick.”

Jack continued. “It might be big enough for four, if the two of you are amenable. However, I think there’s something you might have to tell our dear Max if that is to occur, and that choice is completely yours, _Mark._ ” He landed heavily on the fake name.

Mary exhaled heavily. She had come out about her true gender to two people so far in the past week, and while it had been extremely rewarding doing so, she was still tentative to make herself known to too many. They say, two can keep a secret if one of them is dead. Not to mention four. And with a woman she had just met? Anne and Jack both loved and trusted Max, clearly, but Mary’s case was … unusual.

She cleared her throat. “I, uh, I have a secret, something about myself, an’ if I tell you, you can’t tell anyone. It ain’t something wrong, or sinful, but some people don’t like it and if it gets out people could use it to hurt me.”

Max stepped forward, towards Mark. “I understand what it is to be demeaned because of an identity. I have parts of myself that people use against me, parts of myself that I am not ashamed of but people insist I should be. I promise you that should we ever come to cross-purposes, I will not use this against you.”

Mary bit the inside of her lip, considering. Anne caught her eye and nodded. Anne, so brave, so sure. Mary was emboldened by her support. “My na-“ her voice caught. She cleared her throat again. “My name, is Mary. I’m a woman.”

She could see Max’s eyes widen, reevaluating her in a new light suddenly. Max’s heart lifted. A woman. A brave, strong woman who had taken to trousers to build a life for herself. This was someone who knew what is was to be vulnerable, to be constantly on guard against discovery and discrimination. All of her confusion melted away, and Max felt a deep kinship already forming.

Now that it had been said aloud, Max scolded herself for not seeing it. Her eyes were too soft, her smile was too clear, her laugh too heartwarming to belong to a man. It was as if a glaze had been lifted and suddenly, she was _beautiful._

She smiled in relief and stepped forward again, reaching out for Mark- no, Mary’s hand. “It is a genuine pleasure to meet you, cherie. You are welcome in our bed, if you are inclined.”

Mary flushed as she gave her hand to Max, who lifted it to her lips for a chaste kiss. The way that Max’s eyes burned was anything but chaste, and Mary’s stomach coiled tightly. She could feel Anne approaching her from behind, resting her chin on Mary’s shoulder.

“Alright?” Anne’s breathy whisper in her ear made her knees wobble. She noticed Jack approaching Max, winding his hands around her waist, eyes on Mary.

“Alright.”

No one person initiated. The four of them gravitated together like celestial bodies, bound to collide. They were kissing, touching, breathing together. The love that Jack and Anne had built over decades, the love they shared with Max, poured over Mary. Knowing that it was being shared with her under no false pretenses or threat of discovery, that she could have this and still have the freedom of the life she chose, made her weak. She allowed herself to be carried along by the tide that was Jack, Anne, and Max.

The four of them were not seen or heard from for the following day and a half.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After this point, most of what I have drafted out is some time-jump stuff. Let me know if there's anything you'd like to see peppered in. There's not enough fiction for this pairing! (grouping?)


	9. IX

Mary woke one morning before the sun. In the dark, in those few moments between waking and consciousness, she had no idea where she was. She felt a body splayed out against her back, and for a split-second the room around her looked very much like her bedroom in Martin's inn. For just one moment, her heart caught in her throat.

_How long has he been home?_

_Did we fuck last night? Did I clean myself after? I don't remember. Fuck!_

She shot up, heart pounding and breathing heavily. A chorus of startled snuffles alerted her to the presence of two other bodies in bed with her. Sitting upright, the room came into focus as Max's quarters in the brothel. Nassau. Millions of miles away from the Netherlands.

A sigh rattled out of her.

“Mary?” Jack seemed to have roused himself first, and he sat up beside her.

“I- Sorry to wake you, I just-” the words wouldn’t come. Her eyes watered and her breathing caught. How to explain something so complicated, so silly. A moment’s confusion upon waking sending her into a spin like this?

“Shhh.” Jack's hand landed tentatively on her shoulder, asking permission. She leaned into the touch, and he wrapped her up in his arms. “You're safe. You don’t have to explain. Just know that you're safe now.”

She focused on matching her breathing with Jack's. His chest against her back, expanding, contracting, expanding, contracting. As she steadied, she saw Max’s eyes on her from where she laid across Anne's sleeping form. She gave Mary a sleepy smile.

Mary took another breath before turning to Jack with watery eyes. “Thank you.” _For accepting me. For respecting me. For making me feel safe._

He nodded and whispered. “Go back to sleep, darling.”

She pressed a soft kiss to his lips, face damp with stray tears, before laying down again. She rolled to face Anne, who had slept through the whole ordeal. Her face was so relaxed, so open, in sleep. She felt like a member of some elite group, blessed with the ability to see what so few would ever see. A soft Anne Bonny. She felt Jack resume his position at her back, holding her and resting a hand on Anne. She saw Max nuzzle back into Anne's hair, already half asleep again.

Already her heart rate was slowing, and she felt sleep returning. How easily all her fears had been assuaged, just by gentle touches and understanding eyes.

How she had stumbled into this nest of warmth and love, she had no idea. But she was so, so grateful.


	10. X

The next few weeks posed no problems for the foursome. Jack was pleasantly surprised at how smoothly their new partner had entered their arrangement. Although, after consideration, he realized that maybe Mary was the perfect person for the task. Adaptable, steady, used to finding a place for herself where there was none.

He was considering this as he watched his new partner climbing through the riggings with ease. One of the lines on the topgallants had snapped and none of the men would touch it - something about bad luck.

Mark had rolled his eyes and volunteered right out. Jack supposed he had heard enough bullshit about what brought bad luck onto a ship (namely, women) to lose all superstition.

Anne, leaning beside him, caught him watching. “See somethin’ you like?” Her voice was teasing.

“He’s remarkable.” Jack and Anne had taken to using Mark's pseudonym and the accompanying pronoun set while aboard their ship. Initially it was a measure of keeping him safe, but now it just seemed to suit him. They knew he was a woman, and he knew that they knew. It was good enough for all of them.

Jack watched Mark shimmy from rope to rope easily. The muscles in his arms bulged slightly when he pulled himself up to the next line. The wind ruffled his short hair and Jack could swear he saw him close his eyes and bask in it for a moment. He looked so at home up there, so confident. Beautiful.

“Like a cat, inn'e?” The helmsman had noticed him staring.

Jack cleared his throat and tried to suppress a blush at having been caught. “He certainly seems, uh, adept. With the ropes.” Anne stifled a laugh.

“That was a good move, cap'n, bringin’ him on. The men like ‘im.” The helmsman slapped Jack's shoulder and sauntered away, none the wiser.

Anne made sidelong eye contact with Jack. “I know a certain man who likes him a lot.”

Jack rolled his eyes. “How could anyone resist a dashing fellow like Mark?” His tone was joking, but Anne searched his face and saw truth.

“What would you have done? If he wasn’t. Y’know.”

Jack turned back to watch Mark, squinting his eyes against the sun. Considering. “In the end, I don't think I would have done anything differently.”

Anne turned her attention back to Mark, smiling.


End file.
